


Into the Wild

by Destina



Category: E.R.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-01
Updated: 2003-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep in the jungle, Carter and Luka seize the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ in May 2003.

Carter was once fond of the feel of the scalpel in his hand, cutting smoothly through living flesh. Blood was the price for his clarity of purpose. It spilled out across damaged bodies; it was impersonal, and sent him out of the sterile realm of the operating room and back to his patients' basic needs. Back then, he didn't have to spend precious time wringing a boy's life's blood from used rags, or shoving his hand through steaming orifices in pitch-black dark, in search of a stilled heart. 

He might have chosen another path if he'd known this would be the outcome, but now he can't regret it. Such a distant path would not have led him here, and there's so much here he needs to learn. Pretty crazy, the idea that Luka would be the teacher. He's never thought of Luka that way, never known a circumstance where they could be less than enemies, more than competitors. 

Tonight, it seems possible, and on the scale of things to be thankful for, Carter puts this miracle just beneath the delirious joy of not getting shot, and just above the idea of a hot shower in the morning, once he's back in a hotel. 

Luka offers Carter a cigarette with a push of fingers and a nod of his head. Carter takes a long, burning drag from it and hands it back. One addiction tends to follow another in a deadly chain; he believes it, but doesn't care. The taste of Luka's mouth is on the filter, sour and full, when Luka passes it back for a second time. 

Carter lets the cigarette dangle from his lip as he reaches for the vodka. "It's better without the Pepsi," he says, and shows a trademark smile. 

Luka smiles in kind, a wide flash of teeth surrounded by sharp whiskers, and a tongue flicking out to wet chapped lips. "The soda makes it last longer," he says, taking the bottle from Carter in the spirit of cooperation. "Nothing here lasts very long."

"Except the heat," Carter says. "And the bugs, and the war, and the death." He tries not to sound bitter - really, he doesn't feel that way, this is all so new - but he's sure he doesn't succeed. 

With a nod, Luka swallows a long drink of the alcohol. "You've been here, what - thirteen days?" he asks, though Carter is sure Luka knows the answer. Lucky thirteen. "And in that time you must have learned a little bit about this place, these people."

There's a low breeze blowing, enough to stir the ashes to an orange glow on the cigarette. Carter pulls the cigarette from his lips and holds it loose between his fingers; he watches the smoke rise, strands like deadly silk. "I'm learning," he confirms. It's the consistent thread of his life, from the first day he wanted to become a doctor. 

They're sitting on the ground, far enough from the lantern light to make the dark seem quiet. Luka's full of insight tonight. He seems to want to share it, and Carter doesn't mind much, though he's not sure why he's worthy of the scrutiny. "I watched you," Luka says. "With your hand inside that boy's chest, around his heart."

"It's not the first time." Carter could name a hundred other times he's massaged a heart back to life, but he doesn't need to. He knows his deliberate avoidance won't go unchallenged. 

"This is the first time, though, that you've understood." Luka sips from the bottle. "The first time it's been real to you."

Carter nods, for lack of something meaningful to say. His eyes are burning from lack of sleep and his senses are alive, awake, ready for combat. He's never felt the hairs on his arms quiver with anticipation of predators before, but his body seems to know instinctual secrets he never imagined. 

Luke squints at him in the quiet dark that isn't really quiet and Carter feels the weight of unasked questions. He listens for signs - the crashing of men through the jungle, the shouts of impending disaster, or the sharp rattle of gunfire. There is nothing but the insects singing and Luka's fingers touching his as he hands the bottle back. 

"Why did you come back?" Luka asks. 

Carter suspects they've both had that question on their minds all day, but he still doesn't have an answer. The best he can do is to smile and shrug. "Couldn't leave you here alone. It just wasn't right."

"This isn't new to me," Luka says. "You should have gone on and boarded your plane."

"Well, it's done now." Carter leans forward and wraps his arms around his knees. "One more day. No big deal."

"Not for me," Luka says. "But for you..." Luka is thinking of Abby; Carter is sure of it, and it makes him angry, unreasonably irritated about a gesture of conciliation. 

"Forget it." Carter isn't trying to be sharp, but there's a tone beneath his command, a desire to not tread too close to motivation. Strangely, images from his med-school days leap into his mind, the stitching of cadavers with coarse black thread. Now he works with silk, but all he can think of is the needle, long and sharp and capable of severing skin, sliding down into muscle and sinew, straight to the heart of things. Working on the dead was an education, but it didn't prepare him for life. 

He's a little drunk. Not enough to make him feel deep guilt, but enough to dull his senses, to make the heat and the sweat bearable. He puts his head down, stretches his arm out and lets the cigarette float there, at the end of his hand.

Luka takes the cigarette from his fingers. Paralysis sets in, a sort of languid surrender, when Luka lifts his hand and licks his fingertips, sucking each gently in turn; it's a worshipful invitation. Carter closes his eyes and a moan leaves his parted lips, muffled by his arm. But Luka doesn't respect barriers, as he's proved a thousand times. He's pulling Carter, drawing him in, one hand on the back of his neck, giving directions to the sightless. 

Carter's already open to it, though he'd rather pretend it's all a surprise. So when he lifts his face, when he turns into the kiss, it takes his breath away - the straightforward power of Luka's mouth on his, the soft sounds he's making, low in his throat, where he has no control of his desires. Luka runs his hand up into Carter's hair, shaping his hand to the curve of Carter's skull, and holds him still, taking all he wants, giving all Carter's waited for. 

When Luka's teeth pull gently at Carter's lower lip, his hand is over the hard length of Carter's erection. For Carter, it's not a revelation; it's a side trip into what was, long ago, in an earlier incarnation of who he is now. He shifts in the grass as Luka rips his shirt out of his waistband, and when Luka pushes him back, he lets himself fall. 

Words, finally - not his, but Luka's, in a language so foreign it's familiar. The breathy, deep rumble of it is erotic as hell, but he doesn't have a clue what Luka is saying. Carter'd like to believe it's an ode to his prowess, or his body, but he never gets that lucky, and he doubts Luka would ever repeat it in their common tongue. Not that he cares, because talking isn't what he's about right this moment, while Luka is tonguing his nipples and rubbing against him in a slow, sinuous press of bodies. 

His shirt is easily removed. Luka holds his arms in place when he kisses him, because Luka's kisses are slow, and thorough, and he seems to understand that Carter is wild, and doesn't have the strength to stay still. He chokes out a strangled version of Luka's name when Luka yanks his trousers down, and he wonders about the wisdom of this - of all of it, from the setting to the actions to the aftermath - but there's not time to think about it before Luka's mouth is busy on his cock, and then he forgets everything. Willfully, desperately, he cuts off memory and obligation, and follows the surge of lust in his blood. 

If he'd been asked, he would have said he didn't want to go this fast or be so lost, but sensation kills will, and he's not above wanting it, or needing what he's getting from Luka. He doesn't have time to worry about it because suddenly Luka is over him, chest bare, and they rock together. Carter's arm locks around the small of Luka's back when Luka kisses him again, and he thinks he's getting used to this sort of sensuous kissing, and Luka's tongue inside his mouth, inside him. When Luka's cock slides against his own, Carter's mind goes blank and his body hijacks the right to decide his pleasure. 

"Not yet," Luka growls, as if Carter's mind is easy to read - which Carter has always thought it might be, as all his thoughts are written on his face, and in his eyes - and then Luka kisses Carter's jaw, and his throat, and thrusts his hips up in a sweet, slow glide. 

When Carter comes, he disobeys, because his body has already proven it's a treacherous instrument of betrayal. He's not thinking of that, though. He's looking into Luka's eyes, because Luka is still moving, still making love to him, catching Carter in the act of trying not to love. 

They are sticky in the aftermath, in the humid night air, and Carter is thirsty. There is a patient waiting and the jungle's silence is deafening. Carter still isn't drunk enough to make this not hurt. Luka knows somehow and his kisses become tender, with that raw edge smoothed back. There are always lessons to be learned. Carter has a better idea of where to look than most do. 

He sits up and tugs on his shirt. Luka finally stops touching him. Their car is already on its way to them on the roads through the thick undergrowth. They will sit side by side on the way back, but they will travel alone. This is, after all, why Luka called him out into the wild, on his own. 

Carter doesn't mind the jungle, but he wishes he could speak the language.


End file.
